


Second Chances

by JamiAlexandra7



Series: fem!Parentlock [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Cuddling & Snuggling, Double dates with the Holmeses, F/F, Femlock, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Parentlock, Sort of? - Freeform, Texting, When two lesbians love each other very much...
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-24
Updated: 2017-09-27
Packaged: 2019-01-04 23:32:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,020
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12178629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JamiAlexandra7/pseuds/JamiAlexandra7
Summary: After a few months of healing and recovering, Jo and Sherlock decide that it's time to try again.  Some interesting conversations happen, and Greg learns more than he ever wanted to know about his favourite mad detectives.





	1. Chapter 1

The subject of trying again didn’t come up until well after the would-be due date. Sherlock propped herself against the kitchen counter where Jo was making breakfast, looking shy and fiddling with her hair anxiously.

“Jo?”

“Hmm?” Jo looked up from the toast she was buttering and smiled at her, but Sherlock wouldn’t meet her eyes.

“Have you, um. Have you –?” she cut herself off, biting her lip.

Jo waited a moment, but Sherlock didn’t seem inclined to finish the sentence. Worried now as well as curious, she moved closer and ducked her head to try and catch Sherlock’s eye. “What’s on your mind, bee? Is something wrong?”

Sherlock shook her head. “Not wrong, no. I just – I was wondering…” she hesitated again, took a deep breath. Tried again. “Have you thought at all about. Um. Have you thought about… trying again? Maybe?”

“Trying…? Oh, sweetheart.” Jo paused, chewing her lip as she thought. “Sweetheart, I don’t think – I told you, I don’t think I can do that again. I just – no, I can’t – I don’t want to risk miscarrying again. It would just be too hard on me. I’m sorry.”

“I know, I know you said you didn’t want to. But I thought… maybe this time, it could be me.” Another pause, heavy and anxious. “I could be the one to carry this time. If… if you still want to start a family, that is. We don’t have to. I just thought – I want to, so I could do it. I wouldn’t mind. If. Um. If you want.”

Jo grinned at her, then frowned, chewing her lip again. “Sherlock… are you sure?”

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be? I wouldn’t suggest it if I wasn’t.” Sherlock was slightly put out that Jo thought she would suggest something so important if she wasn’t entirely sure she wanted it.

“Well,” Jo started, hesitant, “you wouldn’t be able to chase criminals all over London once you started to show. Even before that, it may not be safe. And you’d have to stop experimenting with anything toxic.”

“I can do that. I would have done it anyway, when you –” Sherlock cut herself off and chewed at her thumbnail. She looked embarrassed, like she felt guilty just for having brought it up. “Sorry, I – sorry.”

Jo sighed and shook her head, lay her hand over Sherlock’s on the countertop between them. “It’s fine, love.” A pause. “I know you’d be careful, just… it’s a really big commitment, and a huge change. It wouldn’t just be _your_ body anymore – you’d have to share it with the baby for nine months. You’d have to start taking proper care of yourself, too, eating and sleeping regularly.”

“I know all that. I do. I want to. And I think I could do it, if… if you helped me.”

“Of course I would help you, sweetheart. I’ll always take care of you, yeah?” she picked up Sherlock’s hand and pressed a kiss to her palm, smiling at her. “I’ll take care of both of you.”

“Is that… are you saying yes?” Sherlock asked hesitantly. She looked like she wanted to smile, like she wanted to laugh with joy, but she wasn’t allowing herself to. Not until she was sure.

There was a long silence while Jo played with Sherlock’s fingers, frowning thoughtfully. “I… yes, I think so. I know I said I didn’t want to – the guilt and grief and shame would kill me, I can’t do that a second time – but. I know how badly you wanted the baby, and god, I do want to start a family with you. I do. So – yes, I’m saying yes. There’s no harm in trying, right?”

It was Sherlock’s turn to frown, then. She hadn’t realised that it was still affecting Jo so much, that Jo – the strongest person she knew – didn’t think herself strong enough to handle that possibility. It surprised her, but perhaps it shouldn’t have, and Sherlock suddenly felt a lot less confident in her decision to try again. “Are you sure? If you don’t want to take the risk of losing another pregnancy… I don’t want to hurt you. That’s the last thing on Earth I want.”

Jo smiled and kissed her gently. “I’m sure, love.” She sounded confident for the first time since Sherlock had approached her with the suggestion. “I think it’s a great idea.”

They were quiet for a moment. Jo kissed her again, quick and chaste, then moved to sit at the table and put her sandwich together. Sherlock poured coffee for both of them, setting Jo’s in front of her and stealing a piece of bacon on her way to her seat.

“We won’t be able to use your brother as donor again,” Jo said after a few minutes, taking a sip of her coffee.

“Hmm?”

“If you’re carrying, we can’t ask your brother to be our donor again. I mean, unless we used my egg and your brother’s –”

Sherlock clapped her hands over her ears. “Ugh! Don’t say it! Bad enough I had to think about him _donating_ the first time –” She cut herself off with an overdramatic shudder. “Do _not_ use that word in relation to my disgusting prat of a brother.”

Jo rolled her eyes. “Alright, drama queen. My point _is_ we need a different donor. Have you thought at all about it?”

“…No.”

“Well, that’s definitely something we’ll have to decide on, then.”

Sherlock opened her mouth to answer, but was cut off by the trill of her phone, announcing a text from Lestrade. She flipped it open and scanned the message. “Case!”

 

The question of donors didn’t come up again for nearly two weeks, thanks to the gruesome triple murder Lestrade needed their help with. The night after they closed the case, Jo reopened the conversation as they were getting ready for bed. “Have you thought at all about who we could ask to be the donor?”

Sherlock thought that Jo must have been mulling it over throughout the whole case. So had she, actually – it was very distracting. “Couldn’t we just use an anonymous donor and have done with?” she asked, her voice muffled by the oversized t-shirt she was pulling over her head.

Jo frowned at her. “Do you really want some anonymous uni kid to father our child?” she asked, disapproval clear in her voice.

“Well, why not? We can pick someone who looks vaguely like you, any decent sperm bank tests for safety and quality… it makes sense. If it’s the cost that concerns you, I already told you it’s a nonissue.”

“I suppose you’re right,” Jo conceded, but she didn’t sound confident. “I just… I dunno, I thought it might be nice to have someone we know. It’s a bit less… impersonal, is all.”

Sherlock’s nose wrinkled. “We used _Mycroft_ as the donor last time. I didn’t think you were overly picky,” she said as she settled into bed next to Jo.

Jo had to swallow hard against the sudden lump in her throat before she could answer, and shook her head. “He’s your _brother_ , Sherlock. _Of course_ I wanted to ask him. I – I wanted out baby to be connected to both of us, biologically. I wanted her to be _ours_.”

Sherlock’s face fell; she looked crushed. “Jo, I – I’m sorry, of course I – I’m so sorry.”

Jo shook her head again, cutting her off with a gesture. “No, it’s – it’s fine. I’m fine.”

“Yeah?” Sherlock didn’t sound entirely convinced. In fact she looked about ready to drop the idea entirely.

“Yeah, it’s fine.”

Still uncertain, Sherlock rolled over and pulled her close, curling up with her head under Jo’s chin. “Are you sure you’re alright with this?”

“I’m alright with it if you are,” Jo replied, kissing her head. “You’re sure it’s not too soon, sweetheart? It’s okay if you want to wait a bit longer.”

Sherlock hummed but didn’t answer. She snuggled even closer, pulling the duvet up to her chin. “I still think using a sperm bank is a good option,” she said after a few moments. “Just to keep in mind. I mean, people adopt all the time – you don’t need a biological link to be a ‘real’ family.”

“No, you’re right, of course,” Jo replied. “I just thought it might be nice, is all, to have it be someone we know.”

Sherlock hummed again noncommittally.

 _That doesn’t sound encouraging,_ Jo thought. “It’s up to you of course,” she backtracked, “it’s your body after all, so ultimately you get to decide.”

It was obvious to Sherlock that Jo wasn’t sold on the idea of an anonymous donor: she didn’t like the risk involved, and thought it too impersonal. She knew that Jo wouldn’t push Sherlock to choose someone they knew if she thought she wouldn’t want to, but Sherlock wasn’t set enough on the idea to cause a fight about it. She shook her head, curls whispering against Jo’s t-shirt. “No. If you’re not comfortable using an unknown donor, we can ask someone we know. Of course we can.”

Jo squeezed her closer. “Thank you, love.” She sounded much more relieved than Sherlock had been expecting. “Any suggestions?”

Sherlock’s nose crinkled as she thought. “None at all,” she admitted after a moment, sounding put out.

Giggling, Jo kissed the crease between her eyebrows. “It’s fine, sweetheart. There’s time.”

 

“I think you’re right,” Sherlock said one evening a week or so later, apropos of nothing.

“Mm?” Jo shook herself awake and shifted to sit up straighter. She and Sherlock had been curled up on the couch together after supper, and she must have dozed off at some point. “What am I right about?”

“About asking Lestrade to act as donor for us. For me, specifically, I mean. Well. For you too, but I think it would make more sense for Mycroft to be the donor if you’re the one carrying because then the child would have genes from both of us, which is, ideally, what you want. But Lestrade is practically family by now anyway, and Mrs. H adores him so she would approve. Not that we need anyone’s permission, I just mean –” Sherlock tripped over her words in her hurry to get them all out, and eventually cut herself off, her cheeks glowing pink in the dim light.

“I know what you mean, love.” Jo, more awake now, stifled a laugh. “How did you know I wanted to suggest Lestrade, though? I haven’t said anything.”

“Jo. Of course I knew who you were considering,” Sherlock replied in her best ‘aloof-consulting-detective’ voice, which had long since stopped being effective on Jo.

“Alright, genius, of course you did,” Jo said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Tell me how you knew, then, go on.”

“You were eavesdropping yesterday at the crime scene, while Lestrade was on the phone with his ex-wife. He wants partial custody of their daughter, or at least more visitation.”

“I wasn’t eavesdropping!” Jo protested, but Sherlock gave her a _do you think I’m an idiot?_ Look and she relented. “Okay, I was a bit. What else gave me away, then? I know you’re dying to tell me,” she teased.

“You were watching him more closely after that, because you’ve been wondering what the process of using a sperm donor is like when your donor _isn’t_ the British government, and the reminder that he has a child got your attention. Then when he dragged us back to the Yard to get statements, you noticed the nicotine patch on his arm and asked if he’d quit smoking again.

“I caught you watching him again today, judging his looks and apparent health. I don’t even think you were aware of it, but you kept looking from him, to me, and then down at yourself. And I know you’re not interested in him sexually or romantically, which means you weren’t checking him out. He’s not visibly injured or ill, so not a professional interest then. The only explanation is that you were considering asking him to be our donor. Simple, really.”

Jo grinned and kissed her. “Brilliant as usual. You’re right, I didn’t realise I was staring at him today or yesterday. I knew I married you for a reason,” she said, her voice turning teasing, “smart, gorgeous, _and_ you know me better than I know myself.”

Sherlock blushed at the praise and buried her face in Jo’s shoulder, sighing sleepily. Jo smiled and ran gentle fingers through her messy curls.

“Well, what do you think, then?” Jo prompted after a few minutes. “Do think he’d say yes?”

Sherlock seemed to consider it for a moment before she answered. “I can’t see why not. Lestrade likes children as a rule and I don’t think he’ll have more, so I think he’d enjoy being the doting uncle if we were to have a baby. He’s demonstrably the type of person who wants to help his friends in any way he can, and he happens to be sleeping with my brother which – while _deeply_ disturbing on _multiple_ levels – can only work in our favour in this situation.”

Jo boggled at her. “Wait – Greg and _Mycroft_ are sleeping together?” she asked, incredulous. “You only have the one brother, right? We are talking about _Mycroft_?”

Sherlock sniggered and cuddled closer to Jo. “Are you really not going to react to the fact that Lestrade is sleeping with a man? It’s not as if he’s openly bisexual.”

“No, that doesn’t surprise me, actually. He gets a bit leery – harmlessly leery, but leery – when he’s pissed, and he’s not overly fussy about the gender of the people he’s leering at. But your _brother_? Really?” Jo giggled. “I can’t imagine anyone dating _Mycroft._ Greg should know better by now, working with you.”

Sherlock lifted her head to look at Jo properly. “I’m hurt,” she said, (mostly) teasingly. “You were the one who _married_ me, remember.”

“Yes, because I’m ridiculously in love with you. But your brother is even more ridiculous and difficult than you are, not to mention a pompous git.”

“Hmm. I love you too.” Relaxing back against Jo, Sherlock buried her face in the crook of her neck. Within moments she was a warm, sleepy weight in Jo’s arms.

“Come on, love, bedtime,” Jo said. She kissed the top of Sherlock’s head and jostled her gently, waking her enough to stand up off her lap.

 

A few days later, Jo took advantage of a break between patients to catch up on some charting – and to text Greg. She and Sherlock had decided to invite both Greg and Mycroft over for dinner, partially because Jo thought it would be better _not_ to have such an important conversation via text message, but also (well, mainly) because she couldn’t imagine Mycroft and Greg in any sort of intimate relationship and wanted to see it for herself.

[14:15] I hear congratulations are in order - JWH

_[14:20] Congratulations? For what?_

_[14:20] You sound like your wife, by the way_

[14:22] Sherlock told me about you and Mycroft. Congrats. I think. -JWH

_[14:23] How the hell does she know? We haven’t told anyone!_

[14:25] Apparently you were wearing Mycroft’s tie at a crime scene. Not exactly subtle enough to keep Herself from noticing. -JWH

_[14:25] Was I? I didn’t even notice. Damn._

[14:26] When did this happen, then? -JWH

_[14:28] About six months ago now, I guess. Officially._

[14:31] And it’s good? Must be, if you’re mixing up your ties. -JWH

_[14:32] It is, yeah. He asked me to move into his flat about a month ago._

_[14:32] Well, I say asked. You know what the Holmeses are like._

[14:35] Good. I’m happy for you. -JWH

[14:35] Was wondering if you both wanted to come by ours for dinner sometime next week -JWH

_[14:38] Should I be worried?_

[14:39] No no, it’d be… a double date of sorts - JWH

 _[14:41] Seriously? A double date with those two? Have you lost your mind_?

[14:42] Possibly. Thought it might be fun. And there’s something we want to ask you, actually. -JWH

_[15:01] Yeah alright then. What day were you thinking?_

[15:07] Thursday next alright? -JWH

_[15:10] Fine by me. I’ll see if I can get Mycroft away from his office by seven_

[15:12] Ha, good luck. See you then. -JWH

 

Miraculously, Thursday arrived without any cases or, in Mycroft’s case, international crises, to prevent the double dinner date. Jo, more nervous than she’d expected to be, had spent the early evening preparing an absurd amount of food and attempting to tidy the flat – a waste of time, in Sherlock’s opinion, since both Lestrade and her brother had seen the flat in worse shape than it was currently.

“Sweetheart, could you – Sherlock, why aren’t you dressed?” Jo’s voice was fondly exasperated when she caught sight of Sherlock, curled up on the couch in her favourite blue silk dressing gown and little else.

“It’s only Lestrade and my brother, there’s no need to roll out the red carpet,” Sherlock sulked.

“Sherlock…” Jo rubbed at her forehead, where the start of a headache was threatening. Sulky Sherlock was much more difficult to get into proper clothing than flirty Sherlock, which was what Jo had been hoping for. “Come on, you agreed that we should ask Greg sooner rather than later. Let’s just get it over with, hmm?”

“But it’s Thursday,” Sherlock complained. “Why do they have to interrupt our date night?”

“Sorry, love, it’s my only night off this week. I didn’t want to be on call during what could be one of the most important conversations of our life.”

Sherlock huffed and curled in on herself. “It’s a conversation with _Mycroft_ , I hardly think that warrants ruining our night in. He’s _dull._ ”

Jo sat on the couch by Sherlock’s hip. “I know you don’t want to do this, but it’s important, yeah? Science hasn’t figured out how to make babies without sperm yet, so we sort of need Greg’s help with this one.”

Sherlock giggled. “Don’t make me laugh when I’m sulking at you, that’s not fair!”

Jo smirked and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Sorry bee. I'll make it up to you, alright?”

“Oh, you will, huh?”

“Mhmm.” Jo nudged at Sherlock until she rolled over to kiss her properly. “Promise,” she murmured against Sherlock’s mouth, then pulled away. “Come on, get dressed. Greg said they’d be here around seven-thirty, and it’s already quarter after.”

“Do I have to?”

“Do you really want to entertain your brother and ask Greg to help impregnate you while you’re in your dressing gown?”

The sulk came back. “...No.”

“Well then, go get dressed. Please?”

Sherlock sulked harder, pouting her bottom lip at Jo, and didn’t answer. Jo kissed her quickly, nipped at that lip, then got up and headed back to the kitchen. “Up!” she called over her shoulder.

 

“Help me set the table, would you, love?” Jo asked, poking her head into the lounge from the kitchen. Greg and Mycroft had arrived a few minutes before, but Jo had been stuck in the kitchen making sure nothing boiled over or got cross-contaminated with the poison and antidote analyses Sherlock had left sitting on the counter.

“Can I poison Mycroft’s fork?”

Both Greg and Jo tried (and failed) not to laugh, glaring at her half-heartedly. “No,” Jo replied sternly. “And no, it doesn’t matter that you have the antidote handy.”

Sherlock rolled her eyes. “Then no.”

“Fine, then you can keep playing hostess. Be charming and entertaining for ten more minutes while I finish dinner.”

Sherlock scowled, which made Greg snicker. “If I must.”

“You must,” Jo assured her. “Everything’s almost ready, I’m just doing the salad and garlic bread. Greg, you want a beer?”

“I’ll need it, having dinner with these two,” Greg agreed.

Jo nodded and delivered the requested beer, the disappeared back into the kitchen. This left Greg alone with the Holmeses again; they seemed to be having some sort of silent argument solely using facial expressions. Greg sighed and cracked open the can of lager Jo had handed him – he had a feeling it was going to be a very long evening at this rate.

Greg and Mycroft had sequestered themselves in a corner and were busy whispering together when Jo went back in to announce that dinner was ready. “What are they being all secretive about?” she asked Sherlock, curious.

“I don’t know. Mycroft got an email and tried to leave, but Greg stopped him. I think they’re arguing now.”

“Well, whatever it was will have to wait. The British government can run itself for just one night. This is more important.” Jo insisted teasingly, giving Sherlock a kiss on the cheek.  “Are you lot ready to eat?” she called over to where Mycroft and Greg were standing. Mycroft looked mutinous, and Greg was grinning smugly at him.

“Yeah, alright then. What are we having?”

“Nothing too fancy, I just threw some pasta and prawns in with alfredo sauce. I’ve got salad, bread, and _excellent_ wine to go with it, though, so you can wipe that look off your face.” This last was directed at Mycroft, who was looking decidedly put-upon.

The four sat down around the kitchen table – Jo had bribed Sherlock into clearing it off properly so they could eat there instead of on the sofa, for once – and Jo poured wine while the food was passed around. Dinner was painfully awkward from the start. Sherlock and Mycroft spent the first ten minutes trading glares and silent insults back and forth.

“Could you two give it a rest for just a few minutes?” Jo demanded eventually, frustrated by the tense silence that neither she nor Greg had dared break. “I’d really just like for us to have a nice dinner.”

“Apologies,” Mycroft said primly. “This wine is excellent, by the way, Johanna,” he added, lifting his glass to her.

“Thank you, Mycroft, I like it too,” Jo said, taking a sip from her own wineglass. “So. How did this happen, then?” She gestured between Greg and Mycroft with her fork.

“They went to dinner six months ago, give or take, and have been dating ever since,” Sherlock announced before Greg could finish chewing his mouthful of pasta. “It took a while for Mycroft to convince Lestrade that he wasn’t being set up, or used as a political pawn inside the Met.”

“Oi!” Greg complained, “enough of that. Not that it’s any of your business, but yes, it did take a while.”

“I merely wanted to ensure that Gregory was aware of my intentions,” Mycroft put in archly. “There was nothing political about it.”

Greg smiled at Mycroft and took his hand. “I initially thought he asked me to coffee to talk about you, honestly,” he told Sherlock. “I didn’t think he was interested.”

“I wouldn’t have thought anyone would be interested in his fat arse,” Sherlock snarked.

Greg glared. “Lay off him, Sherlock. Anyway, showing up at the Yard with a single red rose and insisting I come to dinner with him convinced me in the end.” He smiled and kissed Mycroft’s cheek when he blushed.

“There’s actually something else we – Sherlock and I – wanted to ask you,” Jo cut in before Sherlock could say anything. Her stomach twisted nervously and she put her fork down.

Greg nodded. “Something important, you said? Is anything wrong?”

“No, nothing like that. It’s just… personal. It wasn’t a conversation we wanted to have in a busy restaurant.”

“Personal isn’t exactly the word I would have chosen,” Sherlock chimed in. “Tedious and embarrassing would be more accurate.”

Jo rolled her eyes. “Hush, you. This is important and you know it, so please be nice.”

Sherlock huffed and mimed zipping her lips. Jo grinned cheekily at her.

“Go on, then, what is it?” Greg asked. He shot Mycroft a look. “And don’t you deduce it, it’s clearly important to them.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Mycroft replied primly. “I’m looking forward to seeing the look on your face far too much.”

“Well,” Jo started hesitantly. “Sherlock and I have been thinking, well, talking really, and…” she paused, took a deep breath. “We want to start a family. We want to have a baby.”

Greg looked startled, but grinned at her. “That’s fantastic, you two! Congratulations!”

Sherlock looked like she wanted to roll her eyes. Jo smiled. “Thanks. It’s not quite that easy, though, as you might imagine…”

Greg looked briefly, horribly uncomfortable, which made both Holmes siblings snicker childishly. “And the other shoe drops,” Sherlock said, her smile turning slightly evil. Mycroft quirked an eyebrow at her.

“So… will you adopt, or, um…” Greg looked like he knew _exactly_ where the conversation was going and would do anything to avoid it.

“We were actually planning on using a sperm donor,” Jo replied, putting on her Doctor Watson voice to mess with Greg, who promptly choked on his beer. Jo caught Sherlock’s eye and winked. “It’s more reliable, and so much more affordable – especially with Mycroft to help smooth over any legal issues.”

“Ah, right… Um. Will you use Mycroft as your donor, then? Seems like the obvious choice.”

“We tried it that way first, actually. I. Um. I had a miscarriage a few months ago, and we haven’t really been trying since then.”

“Christ, Jo, that’s awful. I had no idea, I’m sorry.”

Sherlock rolled her eyes, one arm wrapping protectively around Jo’s shoulders. “Of course you had no idea, Lestrade, don’t be an idiot. How would you have known? It’s not like we told anyone.”

Jo smiled wanly and squeezed Sherlock’s free hand. “I’m alright, love. He didn’t know, it’s okay.”

“Sorry. I’m – more anxious about this than I thought I would be,” Sherlock admitted.

“It’s fine, sweetheart.” Jo kissed her cheek and settled more closely against her side.

“So, if you’ve already tried once, what was it you wanted to ask us? Surely all this isn’t necessary just to request a repeat donation?” Greg looked more than a little confused, glancing between them and Mycroft.

“Sherlock and I wanted to ask if _you_ would be our donor this time. You’re – well, you’re one of our closest friends, and especially now that you and Mycroft are together –”

“You’re less idiotic and more tolerable than most, and you’re practically family. Naturally you’re the best choice among available options.”

Greg laughed, but he looked touched. “Jeez, Sherlock, that was almost sweet of you,” he teased. “But seriously, you two, this is – I mean, yes, obviously, I just – thanks. It means a lot that you’re asking me.”

The rest of the dinner passed amicably, with the difficult bits out of the way. The two couples chatted easily – as easily as the Holmes siblings ever chat, anyway – about logistics and timelines over pudding and more wine. By the time they had everything more or less worked out, Greg and Jo were both pleasantly pissed and Sherlock and Mycroft were sick of socialising, but amused by their respective intoxicated loves.

“Thank you for tonight, bee. I’m glad we’re doing this,” Jo murmured as they were crawling into bed later that night.

“It wasn’t as bad as it could have been, I suppose,” Sherlock agreed.

“Mmm, ’course it wasn’t. They love you, you know.”

Sherlock sighed and pulled her closer. “I know. I love you.” She kissed the top of Jo’s head and closed her eyes.

“Love you too, sweetheart.”


	2. Bonus Mystrade!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This started out as just a tiny bit of dialogue that didn't make the final cut, but I decided to turn it into a proper scene. I hope it comes across as cozy as it did in my mind! 
> 
> I've never really written a scene that's just Greg and Mycroft by themselves, so if any of the characterization or dialogue seems wonky please let me know!!

Greg and Mycroft didn’t linger long at Baker Street after the wine and pudding were gone. It was obvious that Sherlock and Jo were getting more and more wrapped up in one another as the evening dragged on, and eventually they left them to it.

"Did you know about Jo? About the miscarriage?" Greg asked Mycroft as they settled onto the couch in Mycroft’s – _theirs_ , Greg thought, it was _their_ apartment now – sitting room later that night.  

"Johanna had asked me to, ah, assist them, yes," Mycroft replied. "But Sherlock hadn't informed me that the first attempt at artificial insemination had been successful. I was alerted when she was admitted to hospital, and naturally I contacted Sherlock the following morning. I do not believe they would have told me, otherwise. As far as I know, no one save myself and Mrs. Hudson is aware."

"Well, it is a very personal subject," Greg allowed. "I can't picture Sherlock pregnant, though. Or as a mum, for that matter."

"My sister has always been rather more soft-hearted than she would like the world to believe," Mycroft said cryptically.

Greg pulled back from where he’d been leaning against Mycroft’s shoulder. “Don’t let her catch you talking like that,” he said, his voice full of laughter. “She’s got a reputation to uphold after all.”

Mycroft smirked, but didn’t reply. He didn’t have to: Greg knew he cared more for his baby sister than he let on, and was well aware of how soft Sherlock could be behind the prickly masks she wore.

“They must have been devastated,” Greg said thoughtfully a few minutes later. “No wonder it’s taken them this long to try again.”

“I don’t believe Johanna would have been inclined to try again, had it not been for my sister’s influence.”

“What about you, then? Have you ever thought about kids?”

Mycroft laughed. Greg thought it sounded more bitter than he’d probably meant it to and snuggled closer, pulling Mycroft securely into his chest. “Honestly, Gregory, can you imagine me with children?”

“Well I dunno, you did alright with Gracie last week. She had a brilliant time.”

Scoffing again, Mycroft shook is head. “I’ve never imagined myself as a parent – and I’ve never allowed myself to become close enough with anyone for it to be more than a remote possibility.”

“Well, I think you’d be fantastic at it.”

“And I am certain that you already are. Grace is incredibly lucky to have you.” Mycroft paused, leaned up to kiss Greg’s jaw. “As am I.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to everyone who's helped (i.e. held my hand and cheered me on) with getting this written and edited! I couldn't have done it without you. 
> 
> Hopefully the rest of this series will be much sweeter and more lighthearted than it has been so far!! I do have some plans for it, but any suggestions/requests would be appreciated!


End file.
